


Viral Untruths

by PuzzleRaven



Category: Prototype (Video Games), True Lies (1994)
Genre: CIA, Covert Operation, Dark Comedy, Gen, Military, South America, Spies & Secret Agents, World Travel, dark humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzleRaven/pseuds/PuzzleRaven
Summary: When a stranger claims credit for the first outbreak, he wasn't counting on Dana Mercer recognising him, or her very long-term grudge. Blackwatch weren't counting on Mercer leaving town suddenly. And another covert organisation weren't counting on someone good at conspiracies digging up a case they'd closed over a decade ago.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter One.

Chapter One

“Those fuckers!” Dana’s shout was loud enough to be heard by the neighbours in the seedy block. Alex was by her in a flash. “Those murdering fucking arseholes!”

“Dana, quiet.” Alex pointed urgently to the paper-thin walls of the fleabag motel as he peered at her screen. “Blackwatch?”

“No, no.” She simmered down slightly, her eyes still snapping with anger. “No, I thought these fuckers were dead. They promised me they were dead.” On screen she had two articles up, one a terrorist attack from ‘94, the other an article from six months ago with a terrorist group claiming responsibility for the New York outbreak. Mercer straightened up, furious, wondering what sick bastards could want to be responsible for all those deaths. He’d show them the price soon enough. The image captured with the claim video, Dana had cropped and enhanced, to show the face of one of the terrorists.

“Who is that?” he asked, wanting his target’s name.

“A fucking bastard,” she spat. Alex agreed, but that wasn’t useful, and he paused confused. Dana looked at him and hesitated.

“How much do you remember of our childhood?” she said, voice softening. Truthfully he remembered nothing because it wasn’t his childhood, but he knew the files backwards. 

“Our mother was a crackwhore. Dad was in and out of jail and it sucked.” Dana put her hands on the table and took a breath.

“You don’t remember anything do you?”

“No,” he admitted, and saw her face fall. He’d hurt his sister again and he couldn’t seem to stop doing that, but he was trying to be the best brother he could.

“That’s not your fault. Those shits at Gentek fucked up your brain.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all lies.”

“What?”

“Mum and Dad were working on some really classified stuff. Some terrorists outed them and then kidnapped them. You were in college at the time.” She looked down, wiped a tear away angrily. “Then they snatched and nearly killed me because Dad wouldn’t do what they wanted.” He’d rip their fucking heads off.

“They’re still alive?” Not for very fucking long.

“Let me finish. Dad was away a lot, trying to kill them. Mom was trying to protect us but the strain got too much. Then Dad died. They didn’t even give us the body. We buried sandbags, Alex!” She sniffed again, and he flinched, offered tissues awkwardly. His sister was hurting and there was nothing he could do.

“Last month these arseholes claimed credit for the outbreak. I thought it was a different group with the same name, but I know that fucker at the back.”

“It was twenty years ago.”

“He snatched me off my motorbike and put a gun to my head!”

“He’s dead,” Mercer growled, and knew he’d said something right as Dana smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Thanks. Best brother ever.”

#

“Sir!” Colonel Rooks looked up as the intelligence analyst came to attention. The man had put in a priority request to speak to him, so this had to be important.

“Do you have a lead on the Mercers?”

“We've traced them to Boston, sir, but we’ve discovered something critical about their background.” Rooks raised an eyebrow. Alex Mercer had passed Gentek vetting. His background and family should have been an open book, and Rooks had read it several times.

“What was missed?”

“Sir, it was fake, sir.” Rooks was on his feet instantly.

“What?” That should be impossible.

“Everything before Mercer’s last year of college had been selectively edited, sir. Mercer’s qualifications were genuine, but his family background was altered.”

“How?” Rooks didn’t bother asking if they were sure, the analyst wouldn’t waste his time with a wild claim if they weren’t. “And who?” If Mercer was a terrorist plant from day one, that explained everything. Everything except how he’d slipped through the vetting process. If their security had failed that badly, there might even be plants inside Blackwatch itself. And the group behind it would still be out there to try again.

“False identities were created in the system when Mercer was in his final year of college, sir,” the analyst reported. “Dana was a teenager. Family name was changed, and they became a pair of siblings with absent parents. Jail and drugs were used as a cover for the fact that both parents worked away a lot.” That took a lot of organisation, Rooks thought. Christ, this could be just the tip of the iceberg.

“The parents?” That could be a lead, if the pair had been brainwashed from an early age. It was possible they weren’t even siblings.

“The kids were drilled to forget them. Alex went along with it but Dana didn’t, even when told it was for her protection. She never forgave the government.”

“An agency killed their parents? NSA?” Rooks could get access to their records if he had to, but it would be difficult.

“No sir, terrorists killed their parents.” The analyst paused, and Rooks knew this was going to be bad. “Both parents were CIA operatives.”

“Shit.” No wonder they’d been having trouble catching them. “Dana Mercer is an agency brat?”

“They both are, sir. Alex and Dana Mercer are Alex and Dana Tasker.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Dana was ranting as she packed. Alex prowled around as he listened, increasingly angry that there was nothing he could kill right here, right now.

“Mom and Dad got awards, and the full support of the agency. I got ‘Kid, you must be real prouda ya parents but ya can’t say nothing to nobody.’” She tripped over a pillow on her way back to the closet. Vindictively she kicked the pillow across the floor, bouncing it off the wall. “They left a teenage girl clinging to the front of a fucking harrier-” Still talking, her head vanished into the closet, muffling her voice. She emerged again with an armful of clothes.”- missile hit the helicopter, the blast nearly knocked me off.”

“Should’ve guessed. ‘Don’t say anything for your parents’ safety’. Well if the bad guys are all dead, like they said, why were we getting shunted around like baggage.” She forced the clothes into the backpack, struggling with the zip. “Where’s the fucking threat? My parents are dead, you lying motherfuckers.”

“I’m here.” Mercer said.

“Thanks, Alex.” She smiled, stuffing the rest of the clothes into the main luggage, using it to pad the computer. Fastening it, she tried to lift it and failed. “Ah-”

Alex picked it up, ignoring the weight of the old-fashion PC stuffed inside. Dana picked up the backpack with her traveling clothes in, and pulled a baseball cap on.

“I hate the Mets,” she sighed. “Makes it a good disguise I guess. Time to leave.”

Alex nodded as Dana opened the door, checked it was clear, and then walked out, taking the stairs down. A few minutes later a young African-American man strolled out with a large hiking backpack over his shoulders and caught the next elevator down.

Alex never liked Dana being out of his sight, but Blackwatch were looking for two people, one matching her description. If he wasn’t there, he’d learned they would trail her in hopes of picking him up, and he usually got a snack. Dana hadn’t worked that bit out yet, and since he wasn’t sure what she would think of it, he wasn’t going to tell her.

He owed his sister. She’d been kidnapped by Green, knocked out, infected, cured, hunted by the government, and she was still sticking with him. Now there was finally something he could do to make up for all the shit he had put her through, and Alex was going to enjoy it.

An awning blocked street cameras for nearly a block. A smooth step into an alley and an elderly woman stepped out, pushing her shopping on a walker in front of her. He’d never got the knack of wheels, so trolleys were right out. Dana was still in sight, ahead, as the granny kept her pace up just enough to keep up and keep an eye out for trouble. He saw it immediately.

With an unlikely burst of speed for a woman her age, the OAP was behind the man following Dana. The tails had stopped using Blackwatch channels, or spotters who knew someone he’d eaten, but following Dana two blocks and staring at her was a give-away. Mercer’s hand slipped over the man’s mouth, there was a blur of tendrils and the man walked on alone, his jacket more bulky, as Mercer sifted through his new memories. A mugger. Damn.

Mercer had walked another block when he heard the crash of glass and gunfire behind him. Blackwatch, a day late and penny short, and still too close for comfort. He had to get clear before they deployed tracker drones. He hated those things.

Dana had reached their temporary refuge, walking into the squat without drawing a second glance. As he heard the helicopters, Alex grinned. With his sister out the way, he was up.

He took a different turning, walked away at a meandering pace until he was well away from the squat. Dana should have left by now anyway, but he wasn’t taking chances with his sister’s safety. Then he turned down an alley, subsumed Dana’s luggage fully into his torso as he took his normal form, and leapt upwards, running up the building. He needed height.

Standing on the building he could see the best thing about Boston, the harbour. As he watched Dana and her contacts get into the rowboat, he could also see the black helicopters spreading out in a search pattern. Then he heard the beeping.

Pulling a scaffold pole free he hurled it straight through the tracker drone, seeing the crash with satisfaction. A whipfist lashed out snagging the nearest helicopter as he reeled himself in and tore the door open. Tentacles devoured the screaming gunner as the pilot threw himself out of the far door. A whipfist snagged the man’s legs, hauling him back into the cabin as his body dissolved with a choking scream. Blackwatch had stopped telling their pilots anything useful, but Mercer didn’t care. He had had food, and now he had missiles and a helicopter. Alex smirked and went to work.

Out in the bay, the little fishing charter chugged out with the other boats, ignored.

#

“Facial recognition confirms it, sir. Dana Mercer is Dana Tasker.”

“Probability of error?” Rooks asked.

“Extremely low, sir,” the analyst said. “Actually I’d say non-existent since the CIA just told me to back the fuck off.” Rooks’ smile was winter.

“They try that again, tell them you are authorised to shoot them and burn their fucking corpses. You are.”

“Yessir!” The analyst saluted sharply. Some of his troops were far too eager to implement that policy, but it was the CIA so no great loss. His radio crackled into life, and he responded immediately.

“Report!”

“Sir, we’ve located Mercer in Boston. Strike team have engaged.”

“Pull back,” Rooks ordered, thinking furiously. Just how long had Alex Mercer been a CIA plant?

“Sir?”

“Pull back. Get a silenced drone to track him.” If they could get one of the new stealth drones to follow the virus unnoticed, they could get the creature and identify its handler, assuming the virus hadn’t eaten the handler already. Unless Dana Mercer was the handler, and that would explain a lot. “Rescind the kill-on-sight on Dana Mercer. We need her alive.”

“Sir, he’s trashed all the drones,” the radio reported. Rooks scowled.

“I ordered the drones to relay location silently.”

“They do, sir.”

“Then how does he know they are there?” Rooks said, slamming his fist down in frustration.

“Probably the beeping, sir,” the voice on the radio said. Rooks looked at the analyst, not believing what he was hearing.

“They beep?”

“When Mercer is detected, the drones sound an audible alert. They also now relay his location silently.”

“So stop the alert!”

“We’re working on it, sir,” the analyst said, as Rooks’ estimation of their intelligence division fell, “but that programming was black boxed. It is uneditable.”

“So rip the fucking speakers out!” Rooks bellowed. The analyst saluted and fled.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Mercer took the long route out of Boston, unsettled by the silence. Blackwatch hadn’t sent another strike team after the first. He’d expected a running battle, like normal, but instead, one team, a whole five helicopters and then nothing. The pilots had been expecting reinforcements. The gunners had called in when they saw him. And then nothing.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. Mercer had circled back twice, using every trick he knew to evade pursuit, and he hadn’t seen any. Maybe someone at Blackwatch Command had dropped the ball. It could be worse. The alternative was that someone at Blackwatch was learning, and the last thing Mercer wanted was those bastards getting smart.

It was night-time before he caught up with Dana, her borrowed car parked at the side of the road. She was asleep under a blanket on the backseat, not obvious to a casual glance. Picking up the car and running would wake her, so would knocking.

Instead, he put his hand over the lock, extending tendrils to turn the tumblers. Easing the door open a crack he flowed into the car through the tiny gap in a mass of black tentacles, reforming in the driver’s seat. The suspension sagged sharply, and he bit back a curse as Dana’s head poked sleepily out from under the blanket.

“Wha’su’it?” she muttered, mouth blocked by blanket. “Alefs?”

“Where are we going?”

“’r’field.” Her hand circled in a vague motion in the direction of the passenger seat, an old mapbook closed with a post-it note sticking out the top. He opened it, seeing the old wartime airfield marked. At least that seemed to be what the arrow on the post-it was pointing at. As Dana pulled the blanket up, Alex closed the door and started the car, pulling away slowly and driving as carefully as he could. His sister needed the sleep.

#

“So, would the CIA like to explain why they were responsible for the worst terrorist incident this country has ever seen?” Rooks didn’t bother to keep his voice professional. He didn’t respect them, they hated him, why pretend?

“We weren’t,” the aging man insisted. “If you had properly vetted your staff-”

“We would have found your plant.” Rooks leaned over the table, fingers steepled as he loomed. “Before he dropped a vial of a biological warfare weapon in Penn Station on your orders!”

“It wasn’t our orders,” the man insisted, and Rooks glowered. Another rogue CIA operative?

“But he was your plant.”

“No!” The CIA man’s protests fell on deaf ears. It made too much sense. If Mercer was a CIA plant, then of course he’d notice his colleagues vanishing. He’d know he’d be protected if he ran.

“He was taking the virus to you when he was shot.” Karen Parker must have been a useful patsy for Mercer and his handler, a good distraction. They couldn’t have known Blackwatch were already onto him, and expected her to take the fall.

“Absolutely not!” The man’s eyes flicked away for a moment. Rooks saw the uncertainty and capitalised.

“You don’t know.” He enuciated each word clearly, letting his scorn show as he sank down into his seat.

“I know those kids!” The man’s outburst caught Rooks by surprise, but he didn’t let it show. “Harry Tasker was my best friend. There’s no way his kids would do something like this.”

“Your judgement is compromised,” Rooks said, damningly. “Were they?”

“No.” The CIA rep shook his head. “After what she went through? Dana would never help the government.”

“And Alex?” Rooks pressed, as the CIA man drew an uncomfortable breath and didn’t answer. “I see Dana might not help terrorists, she won’t help the government, but she would help her brother, correct?”

“Perhaps.” The CIA man was staring passed Rooks’ shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. “Alex was always a cold one. I never knew what he was thinking, and I couldn’t keep up with him when I guessed.”

“Intelligent, then?”

“And charming, when he needed to be.” The CIA man sounded regretful. “He was brilliant, but you couldn’t trust him. Our assessment said sociopath.”

“Your ideal kind of person then.”

“No.” Now the man was looking him in the face. “He wasn’t controllable. Anti-social personality disorder. He was too high-risk to recruit.” Rooks knew bullshit when he heard it, and that was premium grade.

“We’ll want a complete copy of that assessment, and any other files you have on Alex and Dana Mercer, or Tasker.”

“Those are beyond classified.”

“Look, you useless piece of piss.” Rooks stood slowly, letting his voice raise as he did. “I am managing the biggest manhunt in U.S. history for the worst terrorist in U.S. history, and now I find you’ve been holding out on data for three years?” Rook’s heard the Blackwatch guards clicking safeties off. “The only reason you aren’t in a cell screaming answers at me is because I don’t think you’ve got them yet!” He straightened up from the desk. The CIA rep was smart enough not to protest they couldn’t do that. Blackwatch could, and if the man didn’t know who Blackwatch was, he knew he was on Rooks’ base and Rooks had the guns.

“Privates, escort him back to his base, and stay with him while he gets me my answers!”

“That’s not necessary,” the man protested as he was hauled out of his seat. “I don’t need an escort.”

“If Mercer finds out you were here, you will,” Rooks said coldly, and then before the door closed added: “How long was Dana Mercer Alex Mercer’s handler?”

The stunned expression and choked noise from the man said more than all the incredulous denials that followed. Rooks let the door close as the CIA man was dragged off down the corridor and picked up the phone. He had work to do.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

At the airfield, Dana was looking into the cockpit of a small four-seater Piper as Alex completed his walk-around.

“Flyable?” she asked.

“Yes.” Mercer had snapped the chocks free and his claws had sliced through the chain holding it to the concrete lump as easily as a bolt cutter. He’d piled them out of the way and picked the door lock as easily as the car’s. The Piper needed fuel, but on the open airstrip there were enough other aircraft to syphon it from. “Where are we going?”

“I tracked them to Rio, with Paris connections,” Dana said, pulling a bag out of the cockpit. “Rio’s nearer.” Alex grunted, picking up the fuel container and a length of hose. A mouthful of fuel wasn’t good for him, but it wouldn’t kill him. Unlocking the fuel cap, he started syphoning fuel from the nearest plane.

“This won’t fly that far.” Refueling was possible, but aircraft could be tracked. Dana looked at him confused, and then caught up.

“No, this just has to get us to the border. Mexico. I have a route planned.” Container full, he stopped the syphon and walked back. Dana had picked a tablet up off the seat and was looking at it wistfully. She put it on top of the bag on the ground with visible reluctance.

“If you want it-” Alex knew he could crack a fingerprint lock, but Dana shook her head.

“Its Android with an inbuilt GPS. I might as well wear an ankle tracker.” Mercer frowned.

“Apple?” he ventured.

“Look,” she said, piling their bags into the rear seats. “If it uses a cloud-linked OS, assume it stores everything, right down to your keystrokes. And if the cloud knows, Blackwatch knows.” She sighed. “Even Tor and a fuckton of unco-operative no-log Malay VPNs won’t block that. You're too popular.” Alex nodded as the fuel tank finished filling.

“Ready?” he asked, and she climbed in, fastening her seat-belt as he moved the fuel drum well clear, and checked the plane was good to go.

“Here’s our next stop,” Dana said helpfully, pointing it out on the same ancient map book. Alex scowled as he looked ahead along the route. The zig-zag path would be hard to follow, but harder for Blackwatch to trace, especially if they kept buying cars for cash and passing them on. Staying out of radar notice mattered. Turning his body to block Dana's view he slid tendrils into the controls, disconnecting power from the radar transponder before he climbed into the pilot’s seat, and ran through the pre-flight checks.

“Once we’re there?” he asked.

“I get set up and try and locate their leaders,” Dana said. “It will take time.”

“Or you find me a member,” Alex suggested, carefully.

“That whole ‘people you kill are in you’ thing?” Dana sounded uncomfortable. “I’m not okay with that Alex.”

“But-” he said, crushed, and she gripped his wrist, pulling him to face her.

“I don’t - I mean, if it hurts you-”

“It doesn’t. It’s just memories.” He knew she’d be upset if he said voices, but Dana looked happier and he didn’t want to worry her.

“You’re sure?” she insisted.

“Yeah.”

“So if I found you a low-level member, you’d follow them up the path?”

“Like Gentek,” Mercer said, as he taxiied to the end of the grass strip. The aircraft, heavily-laden, was slow to respond and he needed to give her a good run-up.

“Well, if you’re okay with that?” Dana said, quietly. Free food and his sister wasn’t objecting? Mercer was still smiling when the plane took off.

 **#**

“Sir, the stealth drones are ready to deploy!” Rooks bit back his snarl at the analyst’s enthusiasm. It was too little too late, with Mercer’s Boston trail long dispersed. Instead he turned to his aide.

“Post-mission report?”

“Complete, sir!”

“Key points?”

“Pulling the strike team backups appears to have thrown Zeus. Our vehicles recorded him doubling back through the area a number of times. Target appeared confused, sir.” The aide stood rigidly at attention. “Costs and casualties were lower than for all previous Zeus engagements.” No shit, Rooks thought, because he hadn’t wasted more men against the meatgrinder that was Mercer.

“Deploy stealth drones round the Boston perimeter. Check for any unusual reports or sightings of Zeus. Find him!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” His aide left at a smart pace, and Rooks turned back to the analyst who was waiting patiently.

“Updates on the CIA?”

“Everything about the Taskers was top-flight classified after their relocation. Several records were destroyed.”

“Just get me the data,” Rooks snapped. “Goddamit, do I have to get you a Janes subscription?”

“Yes, sir.” The analyst was unphased. “We did discover something we thought it was unwise to place in a formal report, sir.” Rooks perked up, giving this his full attention. ‘Unwise’ sounded interesting.

“We’re secure here. Continue.”

“The CIA rep they sent was Dana Tasker’s godfather, sir.”

“Sonova- pull that fucker back in!”

“Impossible, sir. I gave the order, but the CIA extracted him in private transport.” Rooks stared. Holy shit were the CIA compromised.

“Our troops?” If the CIA spooks had killed them, Rooks swore there’d be hell to pay.

“Stood down by the CIA. They got the drop on them, sir. I have dispatched two squads to retrieve them,” the analyst said. Rooks calculated the angles in a second.

“Good work. Notify Command of the CIA’s lack of co-operation, and that they failed to disclose a high-level operative’s links to Alex Mercer.”

“Sir, may I also report that our troops pulled back in Boston due to the discovery of CIA interference?” The analyst knew exactly what he wanted to hear. Rooks smiled.

“Confirmed. Get our soldiers back here. We don’t leave good men with scum like that.” Blackwatch troops deserved better than getting whipped to some hellhole abroad for overseas interrogation. Then he did the take and swore, turning to his aide. “You, notify Command we need to close the borders! Now!” The man ran out.

“Sir?” The analyst’s shock wasn’t hidden, even behind the Blackwatch gasmask.

“We found the CIA link in Boston. Mercer was in Boston. The CIA flew a helicopter out of Boston. ”

“They have Zeus-” the analyst began.

“And if they get it over the border, it is out of our jurisdiction!”

“On it, sir!” With a hasty salute, the analyst left the briefing at a run. Rooks half-wanted it to be too late. Let the CIA deal with the mess they’d so obviously created.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Alex helped Dana out of the aircraft, stopped neatly in the corner of a field full of cattle, and unpacked their bags. Dana looked around, staring at the cows.

“They’re bigger then I thought, but they’re a lot more timid than I thought they’d be,” she said, with the fascination of a city girl seeing the country for the first time, and watched the cows for a few minutes. The cattle, pressed in a terrified herd against the side of the fence, were staring back at them. Dana shrugged, realised they weren’t doing very much and began to check the luggage.

Mercer estimated the biomass on the hoof. It was new DNA, and it was an animal so no new voices. One wouldn’t hurt and, with Dana preoccupied, he could slip it passed her easily. As he took a step towards them, wood creaked as the herd moved backwards. The fencepost snapped. As the herd stampeded into the next field, in a cacophony of panicked mooing, Mercer glared after them.

“Alex, leave the cows alone,” Dana said, frowning at him and he gave up. It made sense, and his sister was the one asking. He could always snack later, and the aircraft was the problem now.

He wasn’t sure what to do with it. Aircraft weren’t easy to hide, especially in flat treeless fields, but parked neatly like this it would draw attention. There wasn't any fuel to fly it further. Crashing it was the obvious solution, but crashes also drew attention, and attention drew Blackwatch. So did stolen planes, or going for a walk, or trying to buy his sister a birthday present. Destroying it and hiding the bits was not an option. If he cut it apart, or even pulled it apart, it would be obvious who had done it.

Dana unzipped her backpack, pulling out a set of small baggies.

“Ah fuck,” She held up a hand, showing the tear across the fingertip of her glove. “Can’t leave prints.”

“I don’t,” Alex said, shifting his hands to gloves and holding them up.

“Thanks.” She offered him the bags with her covered hand. “Throw these around the ‘plane. Split a few. Don’t get any on yourself or the bags.” He opened one curiously, sampling the white powder on the tip of a tendril. Cocaine and a lot of talcum powder. “Makes it look like the plane was stolen for drug dealing gone bad.”

Alex considered it. The story would hold for a while, longer if no one looked too closely. The plane’s owner might have some trouble getting the vehicle back, but that wasn’t Mercer’s problem. He went to work, scattering the powder over the inside of the plane, hiding the baggies under the bag seat.

“Where next?”

“We skip the next three towns to a garage in the next county who takes cash, no questions asked, no papers transferred,” Dana said, and stopped. She looked nervous. “But to get there, you’ll have to carry me. Just don’t go all out. If you rip up the road, Blackwatch will definitely notice.” He nodded. “And don’t jump. My computer is delicate.”

Alex, who had fought helicopters with it stowed inside his torso, said nothing. If it wasn’t just parts by now, it would survive anything. Instead he picked Dana up gently. Ideally there would be enough knocks along the way he could blame damage to the machine on those, and steal her another one. Slowly, carefully, he began to jog. Just as he was getting up to speed, her arms tightened round his neck with a nervous whimper and he slowed. This was going to be a long, boring, run.

#

“Sir, we’ve been unable to access Harry Tasker’s genuine service record, sir,” the analyst reports. What a non-surprise, Rooks thought. Time to play hardball.

“Tell the CIA they have fifteen minutes to cough up the info before the fact that Alex Mercer, the worst domestic terrorist in US history was a CIA asset, hits the media.”

“We don’t have conclusive proof of that, sir.”

“I don’t care. It’ll get their co-operation,” Rooks said. It wasn’t as if the media cared about proof, not with one hell of a story dangled in front of them.

“Actually, sir,” The analyst was ramrod straight, and Rooks guessed he wasn’t going to like this. “it appears the CIA have shared everything they had. However some discrepancies have been uncovered and my contacts are digging into them.”

“Discrepancies?” If Harry Tasker had been a mole, then there was no telling how long the rot had been there. “He was a spy?”

“One of ours, sir, but the problem is what is not there.” He was staring at a spot over Rooks’ shoulder. “Tasker was in Florida Keys, took on terrorists and rescued his daughter by expertly piloting a Harrier jump jet.”

“And?”

“Every moment of his life as a desk jockey is accounted for. Harry Tasker never learned to fly.”

“Any five-thousand-dollar screwdrivers in his history, Private?” Rooks began to smile.

“Several, sir. Also we have tied several nights on which Mr Tasker missed his children’s school events to nights when counter-terrorism operations took place. Operations that the CIA have no record of.”

“Well, well.” Rooks sat down as the pieces came together. “The CIA running their own black ops team. Who would have thought it?”

“Orders, sir?”

“Keep digging. Let’s drag the sonbitches into the light and watch them squirm.” Rooks smiled. It made them easier to shoot. The analyst saluted and left, as Rooks activated the intercom to Control.

“Latest updates on Zeus?”

“None, sir.”

“Look harder. If that monster gets out of the country, the world as we know it ends!”

“Understood sir. We have drones deployed along the border, and rapid response teams ready to go.” The aide sounded confident, but Rooks didn’t relax.

“Stealth drones?” There was a pause before the unfortunate Private answered.

“Sir, no, sir. These ones still beep.”

Rooks’ burst of profanity came a moment after he released the intercom button. Otherwise it would have been a good audition for the Navy.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

“God-fucking-dammit!” Dana put a hand to her ear as she stared at the round white drone making its mindless way along the border. “And that fucking noise! Are they all this bad?” Mercer nodded in complete agreement, and picked up a rock. Dana stepped him front of him, arms outstretched.

“Don’t!” she said hurriedly. “If one goes down, Blackwatch will come looking.”

“I’ll lose them.”

“Without getting me shot?” Mercer paused to consider Dana’s question. There wasn’t anywhere here he could hide her around here while he killed them, and she wasn’t bulletproof. Dana chewed a fingernail as she looked along the valley to the next drone. “Maybe we can get round them?” Mercer shook his head.

“I don’t see an end.” He could see the damn things as far as his sight reached.

”Did they cover the entire border like this?" Dana stared open-mouthed as Alex nodded slowly. "What a waste of taxpayer’s money. You can’t get between them?” He shook his head. “We could split up-”

“No!” He cut that line of thought dead before Dana could finish it. Anyone they could pay to smuggle her over the border could turn her in for more cash from Blackwatch, or just take the money and shoot her. He wasn't taking the risk. “Your contacts?”

“Not in this area.” Thoughtfully she watched the drone making its mindless, floating, irritating, way onwards. “They work by detecting virus particles in the air?”

“Yes.” The blasted things also shot at those concentrations, and Mercer didn’t trust them not to fire on Dana just because he’d spent so much time near her. How the hell had Blackwatch known where they were going? Or had this been Blackwatch’s standard net since the first outbreak, just in case he tried to flee the country?

“We need a thunderstorm.” Dana announced. Alex stared at her. No, they really didn’t. Thunderstorms were wet. Oblivious to her brother’s silent horror, she carried on breezily. “Rain to settled the virus particles, and wind and lightning to cover the drones going down.”

“Or I could steal a Blackwatch helicopter.” Mercer smiled, hoping she'd go fo that option. From Dana’s reaction the expression didn’t look any more natural than it felt.

“Alex, Blackwatch knows where those are.” Dana pointed out, worrying a seam in her jeans with a nail as she thought. “Maybe if we’d kept the plane...”

“Under the radar is in sensor range,” Mercer said, reluctant to give up his helicopter plan. Anything that reduced Blackwatch’s numbers was a good thing, even if he couldn’t keep the helicopter for long.

“Aren't there any gaps in their coverage?” Dana asked, as the next drone made its way along.

“No.” Nothing Alex would risk his sister’s life on. The drones had missiles and machine guns, and his sister wasn’t bullet-proof. He was, and they still hurt.

“Or...” Dana had a truly evil smile. “You could get me back to that hole-in-the-wall we just left, and I'll make some calls.”

“Who to?”

“Everyone.” Her expression was terrifyingly vindictive. “Those drones look like UFOs, they’re a breach of civil liberties, and Blackwatch needs to learn the difference between ‘shoot you and burn the corpse’ and what happens when they try it live on CNN.”

“D-notices,” Mercer said.

“This close to the border, Mexican news stations that don’t give a shit.” Dana’s teeth were showing. “Let’s see how ‘U.S. militarises border with killer drones’, plays to the UN. Unless you don’t like making trouble for the authorities?”

#

“How many drones did we lose? This has the CIA’s fingerprints all over it!” Rooks ranted. The aide was still at tense attention.

“They deny everything, sir.”

“Of course they do. They’re the fucking CIA!”

“In this situation they may be telling the truth, sir.” The analyst didn’t flinch as Rooks turned on him. “There is the hypothetical black ops group to consider.” Ah yes, the Colonel thought, their mysterious third party.

“Any progress on flushing them out?” he demanded.

“No, sir, although the media issues originated from a point near the border.”

“You traced them?”

“No sir, but several of the news stations were contacted using county-specific providers.” The analyst said, professionally. “We are down to a twenty-mile specific radius for origin points and drones are sweeping that area. Viral traces have been found.” Rooks simmered, silently accepting it was better than nothing.

“And how many drones did we lose?” Rooks saw the analyst visibly brace himself.

“Point five percent to malfunction, within expected mission parameters. Four percent to weather-related phenomena. Ten percent to suspected illicit activities. Twenty-five percent to farmers and sovereign citizens shot down because, and I quote ‘fuck the guvmint’. ”

“And the bad ones?” Rooks said, bracing himself.

“Four knocked down by Ufologists with their own drones. The dismantlings are being livestreamed.”

“Pull it!” Rooks shouted.

“We did, sir, but the Micronesian and Russian mirrors are still up. The Chinese are paying close attention.” Rooks spared a moment for himself and his thoughts. Fuck drones, fuck the CIA, and fuck the fucking Mercers. The analyst had no respect for his private time, and continued.

“And sir, the Mexican government-”

“Tell them Zeus is going to hit Mexico City.” It would shut them up and get them off his back.

“But sir, the CIA could use that to claim jurisdiction.”

“If the CIA think they can handle Alex fucking Mercer, let them.” He was almost tempted to leave the spooks to it. Their asset, their problem. Once the virus had eaten enough of them, Blackwatch would be in a great position to capitalise. Rooks just needed to pin the original outbreak - and this whole mess - on them in the right way.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

“Why Mexico?” Mercer couldn’t say he liked this place either side of the border, bumping along the rough offroad route in a stolen pick-up. Too much sand, no skyscrapers and nothing to eat.

“Officials with flexible ethics.” Dana pulled out the map, fumbling a bit as Alex drove over a rough patch. “We can get new registered IDs and any other paperwork we need and we can get it cheap. Then we get a private flight.”

“That could be traced.”

“Maybe, but we’re outside Blackwatch’s net here. We either go completely off-grid or we get some vaguely official paperwork and hide in plain sight. I like hotels and running water.” Humans needed things like that, even if it was inconvenient, but his sister had planned ahead. As long as her fake identity wasn’t linked to Dana Mercer, he saw the sense in it.

“What about the right stamps in your passport?”

“I have the right currency in my wallet.” Corruption was a matter of connections, not just currency, but if Dana had trouble Alex was certain he could cut through it.

“What’s the route?” Dana grabbed her seat as the truck bounced. Between the potholes and his weight, the vehicle wasn't going to survive a long trek, but it might double as a weapon if Blackwatch caught up. 

“We go down via Panama. Blackwatch will be looking for direct routes, if they know we’ve skipped the country.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bag of crisps, waiting for a smooth patch of asphalt to pop them open. 

“They do.” Alex had eaten far too many of them to think they weren’t competent.

“Good, because they have no jurisdiction down here. You think I skipped the Bahamas route just because you don’t like water?” Actually he had, but it seemed his sister had method in her madness.

“What about papertrails?”

“You really think I’m using the same ID to enter a country as I am to leave it?” She laughed. “And never fake an ID native to a country you’re currently in, unless you really are a native. No one looks twice at tourist visas.” Alex understood. Giving Blackwatch three different governments’ records to hack and track them through would present obvious obstacles - as long as Blackwatch didn’t track the creators and just level the place. 

“Same pattern as drug-dealers,” he said. Dana put a crisp in her mouth and crunched down.

“Then all we need to worry about is Interpol,” she said, through a mouthful of Dorito, “or the CIA.” 

#

“So,” Rooks wasn’t impressed by the one-eyed man sitting opposite him. The old warhorse should have been put to pasture or respectably shot years ago. “You’re the CIA’s black ops team?”

“We’re the CIA," the man shot back. "It’s all black ops.”

“Sure, and what can I do for the CIA?”

“I’m here to tell you not to do a damn thing.” The old guy leaned forward, projecting his authority over the table. “This is a CIA matter. Fort Detrick and you Signals and Intel guys need to back off. You have no jurisdiction over the Taskers.”

“We’re the only branch of the government with jurisdiction over the Mercers. ”

“The Taskers are outside the U.S. That’s our territory.”

“So the CIA are claiming responsibility for the Taskers, a.k.a. the Mercers.” Rooks smelled blood.

“No, we are saying the Taskers are not your affair.”

“Who’s we?” Rooks demanded. “The CIA?”

“We’re so far above the CIA, we’d need a telescope to see them.”

“Then maybe I should get two of my men to beat your head into the earth until I get some damn answers!”

“The President himself-”

“The President gets in my way and I’ll shoot the fucking President!”

“That’s treason.”

“So is interfering with our operation. We do one job here: we make sure humanity is safe. We burn our own so you spooks can play at politics,” Rooks said, making no secret of his contempt, and the CIA man bridled.

“We are the last line of defense!” he said, half-rising.

“And we’re there for when you fail!” Rooks shouted back, face-to-face. The man didn’t flinch, met him glare for glare and when he spoke again his voice was low and deadly.

“I will get you ordered to back off.”

“You do that.” Rooks wasn’t impressed. he gestured to his troops. “Escort him out.” The second the door closed he turned to his aide scribbling a note with the paper close inside his hand. He angled it so the man could see it. “Have the room swept for bugs.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” The aide saluted sharply and ran from the room, to relay his official order, then complete the unofficial one for listening devices, wiretaps, and full surveillance on the arsehole who just left. Bugging the CIA was a reasonable precaution.

Rooks stripped off and dumped his old uniform for the analysts in case the man had slipped anything onto it, changing into standard battledress before he went to his actual office and sat by the telephone, counting silently. What call he received and how fast would tell him just how Black Ops these fuckers were.

“Sir, we have a phone call. Joint Chief’s office.”

“Put it through.” Rooks picked up the handset. It was good of the CIA to be so predictable.

“Sir....Yes, sir...Understood sir....SIR, NO, SIR!” Rooks drew a breath. “Because that is an illegal order, sir....Because we just discovered Alex Mercer was a CIA operative who stole and released the virus to cover CIA involvement, sir.” He paused, letting the clamor on the end of the phone die down. His orders, when they came, were concise. “Yes, sir. I don’t know how far the rot goes, but I’ll kill as many as it takes to cut it out.” He paused, listened, and smiled. “Actually sir, they’ve left the country. CIA tactics were used to disrupt our cordon, and I’ve just had their rep in my office informing me they are taking over the search for what we now know to be their operative.” His smile widened. Military top-brass were easy to play, but by god they hated being played for fools. “I thought so too, sir. Understood.” He hung up, dismissed, calling for an aide.

“Assemble four of our best squads and put them on standby. Blackwatch now has permission for operations outside the U.S.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

“We’re landing in Panama in ten minutes,” the pilot informed them in his native Spanish. Mercer heard it with a strange echo, as the pilot said it and a fraction of a second later, louder, over the intercom headphones he was wearing. From the rear seat, Dana looked blank.

“More rainforest,” she said in disgust. Mercer was much happier, staring out from the co-pilot’s seat enthralled. That much biomass offered options. His memories kept suggesting strange creatures that lived there, with DNA applications he’d never considered, and with that much food he’d never need to go hungry. “No wifi anywhere.” And Blackwatch drones would never make it through the undergrowth, and helicopters couldn’t get through the canopy.

“You’d need a city for that,” the pilot said, helpfully in accented English, as the small aircraft skimmed the treetops. The only problem with relocating was the rain, and that Dana hated every minute of it.

Mercer only saw the gap in the foliage a second before it felt like the plane dropped from under them. Before his seatbelt could snap, he anchored himself to the seat with tendrils, writhing hidden from his back. The aircraft bounced once as it touched down, tire blowing, and it veered to the side. Screaming imprecations at his engineers, the pilot corrected frantically, struggling to keep it straight until they were passed the trees. Mercer let him have the controls, the man was better with light aircraft than him. The aircraft slowed, and finally he let it turn as a clearing opened up. The light aircraft stopped neatly on the grass and the pilot, still swearing, hopped out to examine the damage. Mercer followed, alert for trouble.

Two men with AK-47s were approaching, guns ready. Infra vision showed two more people in a hut nearby, and others in a large barn like building covered in greenery further back in the forest below the canopy. He could kill them all but if he attacked, they would start firing and Dana was behind him. He couldn’t risk her getting hit.

There was a lightning fast stream of Spanish from behind him as the pilot popped up, waving his hands. Mercer heard the words ‘ repeat customer’ and ‘good friends’ but what mattered was that the guns were lowered.

“Alex, stop glaring and get the luggage,” Dana ordered, as she climbed out, apparently oblivious to how close she’d come to being shot. Mercer obeyed, hefting their bags over his shoulder and turning to see the pilot, standing far too close to Dana, holding a hand out. He bridled silently, but Dana just laughed. She pulled a slip of paper out of her hip pocket and passed it across as Mercer sharpened his hearing.

“-don’t get it wet.” Dana said and the pilot laughed.

“You were carrying that with you? Girl, you have cojones.”

“Double-cross me and I’d have swallowed it.”

“You should stay,” he urged, “you’d fit right in.”

“I’m sorry, Enrique, I can’t.”

“The cause needs people like you.” He pressed. “You could make a real difference here.”

“Enrique, I found the people who murdered my parents,” Dana said, furiously. “And the government bastards who covered it up.” Enrique sobered.

“Then you must do what you need. Afterwards, then perhaps we talk. Make them bleed.” Dana nodded as Alex quietly decided that maybe Enrique was tolerable. “And if you have any more of those valuable little slips, perhaps we have tools we could make available...for the right price...”

“Hey, get out of the way!” Alex ducked as the guards nearly hit him on the head with the camo net they were busily pulling over the aircraft. At a loose end he followed Dana and Enrique - who had an arm round her shoulders and therefore needed to have it removed - towards the hanger. Inside he could see crates. Crates of guns. Enrique went ahead, shouting to the men inside.

“Dana,” Alex growled. He really did not approve of his sister’s new friends. “Where did you find them?”

“What, real South American Revolutionaries in the twenty-first century?” she said, and he nodded. “Where else? Twitter.”

#

“Well, if the Mexican government’s not co-operating, get our contacts to lean on them.” Rooks listened to the explanation and his fingers tightened on the phone. “Understood. Carry on.” He hung up, staring at the office ceiling, because of course the fucking CIA had got there first.

As the aide ushered in the analysts he composed his face into a professional expression.

“Report.”

“Sir, the Dana Tasker in the Bahamas was a false lead. It seems likely the Mercers sold their original identities on the black market.” Or the CIA had done so on their behalf to create a nice trail. They wouldn’t care if someone using a false ID got shot by terrorists. Nor did Rooks, but he wasn't wasting Blackwatch time and bullets on ID thieves.

“So they could be anywhere.” Rooks said furiously. “Even the South American trail could be false.”

“Sir, no, sir,” the analyst said. “We know they are somewhere with a land-border, and that they went south.”

“How?” It wasn’t his job to question, but Rooks was curious.

“They can’t take a boat, due to Mercer’s aversion to water, and they can’t take commercial flights without being recognised.”

“Alex Mercer can be anyone.”

“Dana Mercer can’t, and behavioural analysis suggests he is conditioned not to leave her.”

“So we know which continent he is on,” Rooks said, with heavy sarcasm that brought a wince from both analysts. “Progress.”

“The land border with Canada was not disrupted, and our drones there were secure. We’ve recalled them and put silent drones along the Mexican border. The calls to the media were traced to a hole-in-the-wall bar in Texas, and their security footage shows a woman we have identified as Dana with a tall Hispanic male. The man’s identity record shows he was a gang member who vanished during the New York outbreak.”

“Zeus,” Rooks said, no doubt in his mind, and the analyst nodded.

“We asked questions and they bought a cheap truck to head south. The truck was found abandoned the other side of the border, in the desert. We lost their trail after that. Zeus must have jumped them out, sir.”

“Do we know where they are going?”

“Not yet, sir. but we have one lead.”

“Well?”

“We’ve located Dana Mercer’s godfather, sir.”

“So why isn’t he here, giving me answers?”

“He’s in the Ecuadorian embassy, sir.”

“Overseas territory?” A snatch would be tricky but possible. Perhaps if he blamed the Iranians...

“No sir, the U.S. Embassy in Ecuador.” Rooks head shot up. The CIA had made a mistake, they couldn’t know Blackwatch was authorised to work overseas.

“Our Embassy, our turf. Send a team down there and drag him back. Kick the windows in if you have to!”

“Sir, the Consul may protest.”

“Then shoot the fucking Consul - or just tell him he’s harboring an accomplice to the New York Outbreak. Make sure you’re in his office when you do.”

“Understood sir. We’ll send a team immediately.”

“Dispatch Heller’s team. He’s got the right attitude for diplomatic work."

“Yes, sir.”

“And get monitoring on every embassy we have in South America. If the CIA knows it, we need to.” Because the bastards sure as hell weren’t sharing information.

“Already done, sir.” Dismissing the analyst, Rooks sat back, checking his data. Why the hell had Zeus decided to go on a world tour now? Was it just the CIA, or was there something else?


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Technically the Colombian border was guarded, but that meant very little to Mercer as he made his third trip across. Dana was waiting impatiently by their liberated jeep on the other side. 

“That everything?” he asked, and she checked over the bags.

“Yeah, that’s it.” She climbed in the driver’s seat, looking up at the cloudy sky. “Damn, I wish this thing had a roof.”

"Why?" Even if the place was a bit damp, Mercer considered the rollcage sufficient, and the wildlife fascinating.

"We're in the Amazon basin, Alex," Dana said patiently, and he frowned, confused. He knew his sister hated the outdoors, but this was ridiculous.

"I'll keep you safe," he said, and she smiled, even as she rolled her eyes.

"From one and a half inches of rain? Every day?" He froze, and her smile widened. "It's the wettest place on the planet. There's a blanket in the back if you need to shelter when it starts."

“Start moving. I’ll catch up.” Mercer jumped out, taking his first real chance to stretch his legs. Forcing his way through the thick vegetation, he made his way back to the border point over a mile to their left. He had to be stealthy: they had something vital there he needed, but eating the border guards would send a signal to anyone in Blackwatch with braincells. Recent signs indicated there were a few too many of those for his comfort, but they weren’t anywhere he could conveniently thin them out.

Tendrils flailed out, grabbing a bird, then a snake, but he couldn’t take time to savour the new DNA. Dana was alone, and he had to complete his mission and get back into range to protect her fast.

Slipping round the back of the wooden hut, he flowed into the form of a U.S. Marine, adjusting the camouflage to match and dropping unit markings. Confident it would hold well enough for the guards not to start shooting on sight, he walked to the vehicles at the back, rummaging quickly through the back. Got it!

“Hey you!” Fuck. Mercer ducked down behind the jeep, shifting forms fast, and put his hands up as the soldier ran round the jeep, gun levelled.

“Don’t shoot me!” he begged in Spanish, cursing inwardly that he had never eaten someone who knew the exact Colombian vernacular. That might be about to change. The soldier stopped, looking puzzled, and glanced round, out of human grabbing range. Satisfied the kid was alone, he relaxed.

“It’s nothing, Sarge. Just some farmer’s brat,” the man shouted towards the gate guards, and hauled Mercer up by an ear.

“Please don’t shoot me,” Mercer pleaded, complying. If he could just keep his cover, and get back to Dana with his prize... It didn’t fit inside the kid’s body well. "I have money."

"Turn your pockets out," the soldier ordered, not stepping out of sight of his friends. Mercer did, uncertain how much to show. He settled for a few dimes and a handful of foreign coins dredged up from his biomass. The soldier looked at him and relaxed.

"Keep it. Sarge, he hasn't taken anything." Mercer had, but his prize was snuggled deep in his biomass and he wasn't letting go.

"Then get rid of the brat!" The cold order came back, and Mercer braced for bullets, armour forming under his skin. He'd fight if he had to. The soldier looked side to side surreptiously, and threw him a – chocolate bar? Mercer stared at it, stunned.

"Now get lost. I see you round here again, I shoot you." The soldier punctuated it by miming the action with two fingers. When Mercer didn’t move, still staring at the chocolate, the soldier gave him a hefty cuff to the arm that Mercer rolled with.

"Yessir," he said, still baffled, and fled into the undergrowth. He'd got what he came for, and no one knew he'd been there. The chocolate bar didn’t smell poisoned, and his biomass couldn’t detect any breaches in the wrapper, so he put it to one side to explore later.

Catching up with Dana didn’t take long, as the jeep made slow work of the logging trail she was using. Allowing his form to flow into tendrils he could make short work of the jungle and blades slashed through the undergrowth easily. For a few minutes he kept pace with her off the road, investigating the local wildlife and some fascinating plants. Nice place, but definitely too damp.

The arrival of the first fat raindrops sent him running for cover of the jeep, rapidly finishing the too-slow-to-escape coypu he was devouring. He'd been certain the canopy would block the rainfall, but instead it focused it into steady streams that he was positive were chasing him. Climbing in carefully so he didn’t tip the vehicle, or break the suspension, he ignored Dana's snapped question of where he had been and shook out his prize, fastening the canvas top in place over the jeep.

His sister gave a sigh of relief as the rain was blocked, and Alex settled in as water began to stream from the windscreen. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. As the jeep slowed to a crawl, visibility even for him at near zero, he pulled out the chocolate bar to examine it. The wrapping was intact, and even he couldn’t get through it without opening it, so it wasn't infected with anything, and it didn’t smell poisoned...

"Oh, you saint!" Dana snatched it from his hand, tearing the top open with her teeth. "Oo 'unt 'um?" She offered it back, slightly guiltily, and Alex shook his head.

"I ate on the way."

#

"So he wasn't one of yours?" Rooks said. "We'll burn him anyway. Agreed." He cut the call off and pushed his chair back. That was the third TLA he had spoken to, and the last chance of a convenient resolution. Even the NSA hadn't had answers, though after his call they had a lot of questions. If the NSA weren’t telling him to back the fuck off, it wasn’t their toes he was treading on, or none they cared about. There was a knock at the door, and he sat up. “Come in. Private Starnes?”

"Sir, report from Intelligence.” The man saluted sharply. “The CIA are claiming that Santa and Hat are not their operatives, sir." God, Rooks thought, he had to do something about the codenames the new analysts were assigning. The whole point was to make it harder to identify the subjects if someone stole the reports. There was no point having random wordlists to pick from if Intel didn’t use them.

"They have anything to back that up?"

"Sir, they're happy to authorise an enhanced interrogation and disposal, if we don't terminate during capture or interrogation, sir."

"Agreed,” he said, “We’ll get our answers and they can have our leavings.” Starnes saluted. “On your way, tell the analysts I want an update from Ecuador, now.”

“Yessir.” Dismissed, the man hurried out. Rooks pulled up the file on Ecuador and read it again. He didn’t fidget. Officers didn’t, even when there was nothing to do but wait. The door opened after far too long a gap of several minutes.

"Updates from Ecuador?" Rooks said, setting aside the file as the aide hurried in. Two days since Heller was sent to Ecuador, twelve hours since the target's location was confirmed and one more until they’d kick the door in if he didn’t get some damn answers.

"Yessir. Heller has arrived and confirmed the presence of target Opera. Monitoring of communications has not recovered any useful intelligence, or further leads, sir."

“Opera?” Rooks asked, blankly.

“The codename assigned to target Albert Gibson, sir. The man who the CIA ex-filled to Ecuador?” the analyst reminded him. Not Santa and Hat? Dammit, he was going to kill Starnes.

“No sign of Mercer?” Rooks glowered as the man shook his head. “Get drones to our South America teams. Diplomatic bag, Eyes only.”

“Yessir, but we have one complication. The target is staying in one of the embassy rooms and the Consul is out of contact. Heller has been unable to find a way to get an appointment without tipping off the target.”

“Then we proceed as planned.” And once the operation was complete, give it forty-eight hours for rumours to spread of the consequences of sheltering their target, and he’d sour every bolthole the man might have. “Any other updates?”

“Sir, the CIA were initially saying that he wasn’t one of theirs. Then they began to shut up and follow the party line.” Rooks smirked, knowingly.

“Someone leaned on them.”

“My assessment exactly, sir. Should I pull Heller back?”

“No.” Rooks' order was immediate. The fastest way to flush game was burn the bush and see what screamed.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

“What the hell?” Dana’s horrified exclamation brought Alex straight across the hotel room to her side. “Someone attacked the U.S. Embassy in Ecuador.”

“Not me,” Mercer replied instantly. Not that he had any problem with blowing up diplomats, but he’d been with her the whole trip from Boston right down to this hotel in Barinas. Dana tapped her fingers on the keys impatiently, scrolling down as she scanned the article.

“I know that, Alex,” she muttered, fiddling with her robe with her free hand, “but its not good for us if people start looking at U.S. tourists, even if they want to give sympathy.” Alex scowled, walking to the window and looking out at the lights of the city. He didn’t believe in co-incidence. They went south and an Embassy blew up? It was just too convenient to be unrelated. “No fatalities at least, although some of the embassy staff were worked over.”

“Who’s responsible?”

“They don’t know yet.” Dana resettled the towel round her neck, catching drips from her just-washed hair before they fell on the screen. She’d had two showers already since they arrived at the Venezualan hotel, trying to remove the mud from the logging trail, and immediately declared her travelling clothes a write-off.

“No leads?” he asked.

“Lots of rumours, nothing credible.” She sat back in her chair and stretched her arms, yawning. “The intelligence agencies are investigating, and with my sources, if they know I’ll hear. If I’m online.” Mercer glowered. Someone would blame him. They always did.

“Wish I read better Spanish,” she muttered.

“Anything important?”

“Before it got pulled very fast, there was a cached version of a press release with the Consul talking about terrorists.” Mercer went back to her screen, dodging a few stray droplets as she resettled the towel, and read quickly through the partially deleted document. The attack sounded like a professional hit, ropes, paramilitaries, guns, and something about the description roused memories.

“This is...familiar.”

“You mean a certain paramilitary terrorist group that's sudden become active again tries to claim responsibility for the outbreak, promises something larger within a month, and then an Embassy gets attacked?” Dana said, cynically. “They haven’t claimed responsibility. Yet.”

“Ecuador.” Mercer frowned. It was a long way to backtrack from Venezuala, through far too much rainforest with far too much rain. “Should we-”

“No. They were there, they might not still be.” Dana shook her head. “Ecuador’s a new lead with no confirmation. We know they’re in Rio. We start there. If Rio doesn’t pan out, then we go for Ecuador.” Mercer nodded. It made sense. "But we're gonna have to change our travel plans. We don’t have time to tour through Guyana. We take a plane to Caracas and then to Rio."

"That's a risk."

"I know." Dana didn’t look happy, but she kept pushing on. "It was a fallback route I had planned anyway, but I'll need makeup and hair dye. Facial recognition cameras are a fucking nuisance, but they are beatable."

"I don't like it," Mercer grumbled and Dana folded her arms round herself, turning on her chair to face him. It wasn't puppy dog eyes. He could eat a puppy.

“Alex, these are the guys who stole three nuclear bombs," Dana said softly. The giant white robe and fluffy towel didn’t really match the gravity of her expression. "If they’re planning something bigger this time, we have to stop them before they get to that level again.” It was quite obvious that if he didn't agree, she'd just go on her own. He certainly wasn't going to let his little sister go unescorted to Caracas.

"I'm with you," he said, and was rewarded with another smile. There was a knock at the door, and Dana tensed as someone outside called something she didn't understand. Mercer walked across, catching the scent of the food and the perfume of the maid waiting outside, and opened the door. Thanking the woman fluidly, he palmed a note across as his current appearance would have, and didn’t invite her in despite what the memories told him he should do. Taking the tray he closed her out, and put the food on the table.

“Alex?”

“Dinner.” He pulled the top off the tray, and Dana perked up.

“Oh, that smells good. Gimme a minute.” She rubbed her hair dry quickly with the towel, sliding her feet into the fluffy hotel slippers and reluctantly left the computer to sit down at the table. “Ummm. Real food. Start without me if you like.”

“I’m not hungry.” That was actually true. He’d spent the entire drive through the countryside gorging on samples of everything new that crossed his path.

“I’m getting worried about you, Alex,“ Dana said, through a forkful of chilli. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat in the last...”

“I’m going to check out the city.” He changed the subject fast.

“Grab yourself a snack while you’re out,” she chided. “Promise?” He was virtually full, but if Dana was worried...

“Promise.”

#

"Rooks, you really screwed the pooch this time." On the screen the older man glared over the table, slamming his hands down hard enough to make the camera jump – along with the other two people at his end of the call. Rooks kept his face straight and let the man rant. Angry men let things slip. "Do you have any idea how many operations you just disrupted? The damage to the political situation with Ecuador could be unrecoverable."

"Mr. Trilby." That might be the man's current name, but if it was his real one or the one he was born with, Rooks was a Private. "If the Blacklight virus gets out, there won't be a political situation to worry about." He kept his voice concerned. It would play better to the neutral audience at Trilby's end, and that was the only person he needed on his side.

“Then get your ass to New York and contain it.”

“Difficult, when your organisation moved the only sample to South America!” Rooks retorted, putting the blame back where it belonged. For emphasis he glared through the screen straight at Albert Gibson, who didn't notice. Their target was staring down at the table trying to look engaged in the folder he was holding, as Trilby leaned back.

“You have no proof of that, Rooks.”

“Our Mexican border cordon was disrupted by co-ordinated mass-personnel tactics." Rooks said, matching him eyes for eye. "Top Secret technology was compromised by professional level concealed darkweb servers. Dana Mercer registered four different identities in Mexico, and used none of them.”

“I taught her that,” her godfather chimed in, proudly, from beside Trilby. Rooks glared at him, and Trilby’s expression was thunderous. 

“Shut up, Gibson,” Trilby snapped, and Gibson sank down visibly in his seat. Rooks spoke over him.

“Then what would she travel under?” he demanded, and on the webcam Gibson fidgeted, rolling his pen between his fingers.

“I don’t know.” His face was disarmingly open. “It’s been years.”

“You sent her Christmas presents every year until she left for New York!” From the expression on Trilby’s face, he hadn’t known that little titbit. Rooks had to thank his analysts later.

“She never opened them!” Gibson protested, and seeing the rapidly fraying temper of his boss right next to him, the man spoke fast.. “If she’s sensible. She won’t have used any of them. Unless she thinks you know that, when she might double-bluff.” That wasn’t intelligence. It was useless.

“So where are they going?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“You don’t know or you won’t tell me,” Rooks pressed, and the man’s gaze flicked to his boss.

“I don’t know,” the man said, unconvincingly. There was a quiet cough from the third man at the table, still dignified despite his black eye.

“Mr Gibson,” the U.S. Consul to Ecuador said, crackling with barely controlled fury, “if you know anything, spill it. Now!” It had been a stroke of luck that the man had had family in New York. It would have been useful to find that out before Heller had stuck a fist in the diplomat’s face, but intelligence failures happened.

“When did you recruit Alex Mercer?”

“We didn’t,” Gibson protested. “Alex Mercer was a clinical sociopath. Anti-social personality disorder. He was incapable of loyalty, empathy or compassion. Yes, he was brilliant, but he could be subverted by the first person to offer enough money.” So they’d watched Mercer get recruited by Gentek, and then they’d done exactly that. It was close enough to a confession, as far as Rooks was concerned, and he didn’t consider it a good defense for what had happened to New York.

“And Dana?”

“She wouldn’t give us the time of day,” Gibson said, regretfully. “A real shame. She -” He saw his boss’s expression and caught himself, finishing lamely with “- would have been good.”

“You say she’s good, and thanks to you, we have to track her down,” Rooks said, heavily “so, like the Consul said, whatever you have planned, whatever you know about the Mercers or the Taskers, spill it. Now.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Even belted in for the landing, the old woman’s hands were pressed up against the aeroplane window, eyes scanning over every inch of the city lights below. They were scattered, patterns rather than lines, dark outlines marking forests and parks and even a lagoon, and a round blue oval that must be the stadium blazing up like a challenge. Her head turned, eyes latching onto the lit up statue with obvious delight. In the seat beside her, her grand-daughter looked up from stowing her new laptop and laughed.

“God, you are such a tourist.” Her grandmother ignored her, and the chuckles from the rows around them, fixated on the statue. It offered so many possibilities.

The bay was wider than New York’s rivers, but lights showed a large rock at the end of it, and according to Dana’s videos there were cable cars. Maybe he could grab them like helicopters, or slide down the cables. Another bay curved beyond as the aircraft turned, finally coming out of its holding pattern and beginning to descend properly. Mercer waited for skyscrapers to rise as they got lower, but the lights stayed flat, like a blanket. Odd.

It was a smooth landing, and as the aircraft halted at the gate the old woman got her hand luggage, bending right over to hide the seat from prying eyes as she pulled the bag out. Wavering slightly she stood up, her grandaughter holding her grandmother’s arm tightly, apparently to support her as they disembarked and made their way into the terminal.

“What’s going on over there?” Dana asked, concerned. She wasn’t the only passenger slowing to look. On the tarmac, the cargo handlers were opening the aircraft’s hold cautiously, standing well back as if they expected something to jump out at them. Alex sharpened his hearing. A bomb? A Hunter? An overheard flood of quick Portuguese told him the Captain had reported the cargo must have shifted left. The weight on the plane had been off, and they’d burned more fuel than expected.

“Cargo shifted,” Mercer said, succinctly. It was a good thing they didn’t weigh passengers. Dana tutted, pulling her ‘grandmother’ towards the baggage claim.

“They’d better not have damaged anything important. Like my fucking computer.” She was talking to him again, and that was a relief. After recalling Caracas’ crime figures, Alex considered that stealing a plane and hopping the border was much safer than letting his little sister actually go there. She hadn’t been pleased, but he was being a good brother, and not an over-protective asshole, no matter what Dana said.

“Your passport?” Alex reminded her, suspecting it was one of the many papers he had sloshing uncomfortably around in his bio-mass.

“It’s ready for the hotel.” The Canadian one she planned to use in Brazil said she’d come in by boat from Cuba on a long tour of South America. Alex grinned. It was useful how many countries down here would tell the U.S. to fuck off if Blackwatch tried to verify information. Once he'd eaten the terrorists, maybe he could talk Dana into moving to one of them. His sister saw the look he was giving her, and her nails dug into his arm. “Stop fussing. You’re wrecking all my plans.”

When they finally got through the gate, they were left waiting for their luggage. Dana impatiently tapped her foot the whole time they were at the baggage carousel. Mercer was looking round curiously. It had been a whole four hours in one place, and no one had tried to kill him yet. When their bags eventually came round, he hefted them off the carousel without thinking, and suddenly dropped them as he saw Dana’s expression.

“Senhora?” A man hurried up. Mercer tensed, expecting security. Would this be it? Was this when his life as normal resumed? ”Would you like a trolley?”

“Yes, thank you,” Mercer replied, and the porter hurried off.

“What was that?” Dana whispered to him nervously, even as she kept the smile on her face.

“Airport porter.” Mercer reassured her.

“No, the language.”

“Portuguese.”

“Shit, I don’t speak it. I thought it was like Mexico where they all spoke English in the tourist bits. Where’s the border control?”

“Internal flights don’t have them,” Mercer reminded her, as he watched the porter retrieving the trolley.

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Dana asked.

“The cameras?” Mercer asked, blankly. He’d encountered complications trying to get Dana’s make-up in Venezuala - who the hell outlawed foreign currency? - and had not expected something as simple as fake tan to work.

“The computers can only remove make-up they recognise as make-up,” she said, under her breath. “Change the shape of my cheekbones, get some off-the-rack braces to adjust the mouth, coloured contacts, and if it is assymetric enough the computer won’t even recognise it is a face. Then they’re back to the mark one human eyeball.” She give him a look that made him cringe. “It’s a good thing my other papers are pre-stamped.”

Alex grimaced, which turned into a stern expression on the dowager’s face. Where exactly had his little sister picked up all of this?

“Is everything alright, senhora?” the porter asked in Portuguese, stepping in to take their bags and setting off towards the entrance.

“I am concerned about the company my grand-daughter is keeping,” Mercer replied in the same language as he followed. Dana glanced between them, but she followed Alex’s lead as she didn’t speak the language.

“So ban her from seeing the man.” At the gateway the porter hefted the bags onto the luggage trolley, leaving Mercer with the one large bag he wouldn’t hand over, because he couldn’t.

“It is online.”

“Online?” The porter grinned. “Then take her computer away.” Mercer wisely decided not to translate that, tipping the man and pointing Dana imperiously at the luggage trolley. She pushed it with a grunt and it barely moved. Her grandmother leaned a hand on it for support and before the porter could step in again, it rolled forward. Easily, the two women walked out of the air-conditioned terminal towards the taxi rank. And stopped.

“My god,” Dana gasped. “It’s a blast furnace.” Alex agreed. He’d never felt anything like this. New York had cold winters, Boston’s climate snowed in March. Rio was hot. It was humid. It was wonderful.

And, best of all, it had no Blackwatch.

#

"When?" Rooks shouted, and the aide flinched but answered.

"Last night, sir. We've been unable to trace him." To his credit, the aide's voice didn't shake. Rooks' temper didn't cool, but screaming at the man wouldn't help.

"How?"

"Heller doesn't know, sir. Two of the Embassy guards were out cold, but there's no clue about the culprit."

"Fine. Retask Heller to protective duties. The Consul is to be considered a class A asset. Inform Intelligence about the status of Opera and Trilby." The aide nodded, running from the room as Rooks dismissed him. Alone, he slammed his fist into the desk. It didn't help. Gibson and Trilby had vanished from the Embassy. Rooks had expected nothing better from Embassy security, but they'd also evaded Heller's cordon without a single guy touched. These guys definitely weren't CIA. The op was too clean.

Sitting down, he put his head in his hands, scrubbing his fingers through the bristles of his hair. One step forward, two steps back, and he hated losing ground. He hadn't had downtime in a year, hadn't had a holiday in longer. His latest medical report had reported stress burnout symptoms, but Rooks couldn't take the time out. There wasn't anyone else to take over. Zeus had killed them all.

A second outbreak wasn't an option. Manhattan had been an island, but the dispersal simulations for an outbreak in Buenos Aires or Mexico City had been terrifying. If Blacklight got loose in any of the sprawling South American cities, containment was literally impossible. The only solution would be a nuke, dropped immediately at the first signs, and Hope Idaho had shown the damn thing could have a five-year symptomless period if it wanted. Waiting for the first victim to start coughing would be too late, but the government just wasn't listening. The end of all life was too big a concept for the politicians.

Some of the morons actually wanted to restart experiments in Manhattan, study the virus in the wild instead of wiping it out and half his time was being wasted slapping it down. God help him if these black ops idiots were working for that faction. They didn't know what they were dealing with.

His elbow knocked the pile of paperwork by his desk, and he sat up, mechanically picking up the first of the files. It wasn't good news. Blackwatch had monitored communications, boats, cross-border flights, and come up blank. Somehow their targets had evaded all of it. They had stealth drones, but nowhere to deploy them. They had no Gibson. They had no leads.

And, worst of all, they had no Blacklight.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

From his high vantage point, Alex looked out over Rio by night. It wasn’t the grid layout of New York or Boston, and dark and light patches sprawled across the land. It was utterly different to anywhere he had been, and full of new experiences like the one he was currently hating every minute of: being completely lost.

He’d thought following the roads would work, but they twisted, forked, and curved. Giving up, he’d gone with his usual fallback of heading for the highest point, but it wasn’t any clearer from here. None of his stolen memories had seen this view by night, and the landmarks were too widely spaced to find the hotel. A quick jump from the soapstone shoulder put him on the statue's head. It didn’t help.

Pulling the tourist map out of his biomass and pulling up stolen alcohol-blurred memories of holidays to Ipanema and Copacabana, he tried to match the map to the city below. It was no good. He couldn’t work out where Dana’s hotel was from here, or the three areas she’d asked him to visit.

Absorbed in the map, he almost missed the sound of the helicopter approaching. Ah shit. Tendrils folded the map back into his pocket as he jumped, air-dashing into the dark patch over the mountain side. Too late now. Either he’d have to eat someone or ask for directions.

The helicopter was still circling the statue, and he left it behind easily. Fuck, Rio was huge. He could cross New York in minutes, less, but there were counties here that took him longer, and fewer skyscrapers to give him a boost. Flying for the brightest patch he could see, south-west, even another air-dash didn't close the distance before he began to fall. Twice the height of the Empire State Building and plummeting, he aimed for the flat roof of a tenement block, tried too late to roll through to cushion the landing as he felt something give beneath him.

In a crash of collapsing brickwork, the side of the building fell away, taking him with it. He shifted forms as he fell, curling up on reflex as he hit the street in a shower of crumbling masonry. As shocked faces stared out of the suddenly open-plan apartments he shot to his feet and ran, cornering fast to find an alley with a wall he could climb. Perching gingerly on the edge of a rooftop blocks away, dusting himself off, he swore loudly. It looked like they weren't using the same building codes as New York either.

Trying to find the targets was going to be harder than he thought. In New York he'd had Dana's research and Lt. Goodwin's memories to go off. Here it was just faces Dana had found on the computer. He could start eating people at random, but that was Blackwatch thinking and he was better than them. Besides, with the population of the favelas, he wasn't sure he could handle that much biomass.

Mercer grimaced. Playing lost tourist was a last resort, but he might find someone helpful like that borderguard, or a guide back to Dana's hotel. Sliding into the gap between the buildings, he slithered down into a narrow alleyway, changing to a Japanese tourist from the first outbreak. There were a pair of teenagers standing on the corner and he walked towards them eagerly. The older shifted position, sliding a hand into his jacket.

"Could you help me? I am lost." Mercer stammered in broken Portuguese. He'd got enough stashed to tip the kid for information, and Dana had better never find out he'd had to resort to this. The teasing would never end. "I need to get to Ipanema?"

"Dinheiro!" The teen insisted, sullenly. Mercer shuffled his biomass, looking for local bills to pay for information. Impatient, the boy stuck a gun in his face. Mercer blinked and slowly raised his hands, looking round to see the streets were clear. The two people he could see were hurrying away, studiously ignoring them.

Information and dinner? Oh hell, yes. He loved Rio.

#

“Lt. Riley, you are in command of New York in my absence. Captain Jeffs, manage day-to-day operations in Fort Detrick. Sgt. Heller has field command on site until we arrive.” Heller’s squad had taken the field with its duly issued, green-as-shit Lieutenant and Rooks had no illusions about who was actually running things in Ecuador.

“Ready for full deployment, sir!” Riley saluted. Rooks hated giving the order. He was being buffaloed and he knew it, but he didn't have anything to push back with. Ecuador was their only lead. If he didn’t follow it and Mercer escaped, the result would be unthinkable.

“Blackwatch departs in-”

“Belay that, sir!” the analyst shouted, from the back of the room. The officers' heads turned.

“Private?” Rooks put every inch of his frustration, irritation and annoyance at the situation into the word, promising to take it all out on the unfortunate who interrupted him. The analyst snapped to full attention, staring straight ahead.

“Sir, new intelligence, sir.” Rooks took the time to get his temper under control before he deigned to answer.

“And?”

“The Mercers aren’t in Ecuador, sir!” The Private was still at attention, eyes front. Rooks let him stay like that.

“And you have rock solid intelligence of this?”

“Sir, no, sir,” the analyst replied, to Rooks’ surprise. Very few soldiers were suicidal enough to interrupt the Colonel without a damn good reason.

“Outbreaks? Eye witness reports?” Rooks asked, sarcastically. “A signed postcard?”

“Sir, no, sir”

“Then what the hell do you have?”

“We know what Dana Mercer is looking for, sir.” Rooks’ anger vanished in a sudden rush of elation. Finally they had a lead on the bastard and his sister. Measuring each step, letting his anger drain away until he could think, he took his seat at his desk, leaving the analyst the intent focus of every officer in the room.

“At ease. Report.”

“In summary -”

“No. Provide a full report. Dot your I’s.” He swung his laptop round for the analyst to use as the Private came forward.

“Yessir. While the Taskers’ history was classified, we uncovered this article about Dana Tasker.” The report the man brought up was in Portuguese, but the picture showed a young, dark-haired, girl clinging to the nosecone of a Harrier jump jet. The angle it was taken from gave Rooks chills as he realised the height they must be at. Squint and it must be-

“Dana Mercer?”

“In 1994 she was kidnapped by a group called Crimson Jihad.” Rooks looked up and the analyst nodded. “Yessir, the ones that claimed responsibility for the outbreak last month. After the incident in '94 they were scattered, most of the leadership dead.”

“So they rebuilt. Analysis of the claim video was useless, wasn’t it?” If they could link the Mercers to taking instruction from the group, that would be excellent but Rooks knew the pieces didn’t fit. Zeus was fanatically protective of its sister, and he couldn’t see the creature taking that treatment of her well. Fuck knows, if that had been his daughter up there…

“Yessir, but their claim was reported on several video and news sites. Analysing the traffic to these sites we discarded any non-VPN, any VPN we could crack, and any that logged to reduce our target to a set number. One particular visitor churned through every single site hitting these articles specifically. We know because we aggregated the traffic to get a visitor path.” He pulled up a graph.

“And why is that the Mercers?”

“Because we also pulled the logs from every router and provider within a ten block radius of where Zeus and his sister were located in Boston. Isolating users, using statistical analysis to remove fake traffic generated by VPNs to clock live use and we identified this individual user.” He brought up a second graph, overlaying it. “Allowing for multiple re-encryption and de-cryption, along with known lag, the traffic pattern-”

“It’s a match.”

“Yessir.” The analyst braced himself. “It’s not conclusive, sir, but someone within ten blocks of where the Mercers were located, piggy-backing on public wi-fi, making a very good attempt to hide their location while they dug for information on the outbreak, stumbled over the people who nearly killed Dana Tasker and then tore the web apart looking for more. Forty minutes later, the Mercers left fast.”

“So why Rio?” Rooks said, “This group were traced to France.”

“Because this was the last article she looked at, sir, and the latest intelligence places this cell in Rio.” He visibly braced himself. “And, sir, that man in the back row is the man who pulled Dana Tasker off a motorcycle and stuffed her into a van fifteen years ago.”

Rooks hid his elation behind a scowl as he planned. Would Zeus take this personally? Easily. The tapes of the creature swearing blind vengeance on Taggart and the blood-curdling threats it uttered on its rampage to hunt him down were a matter of record. He couldn’t afford to make assumptions here though. No matter how it looked, when it came down to it all he had was a compelling string of co-incidences, without the final proof needed to back it. It all came down to whether he trusted his own analysts or the CIA.

"Put Blackwatch on stand-by for departure,” he ordered finally. “Captain Jeffs, take two squads to Ecuador and relieve Heller. Send two squads to Rio. Covertly. And you," he glared at the analyst, "get me some hard evidence!"


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Rocinha's done." Mercer shut the hotel window behind him as he crawled into the room. In the morning light Rio's skyscrapers were visible, not as densely packed or as tall as he was used to in Manhattan, but they were there. It was reassuring. Sitting on her bed, Dana looked up irritably from the little laptop she'd bought in Venezuala.

"Any leads?" she asked.

"Vila Aliança. Tonight." His sister smirked, drumming her keyboard in triumph. Her fingers on the keyboard were shaking slightly.

"Knew it!" she crowed, loudly, throwing her arms above her head. Alex frowned. That was far too active for Dana. "So why are you back here? Get back out there and kill them!"

"Area information." The next person he needed to eat wouldn’t be out until this evening, but he was glad he'd come back. Something was definitely wrong. Alex switched to heat vision. She wasn't infected, but her body temperature was definitely elevated. "Have you slept?"

"No time to." She waved him off, head wobbling slightly, her attention going back to her screen. "I feel fine."

"You're not." Alex sniffed. She didn't smell of disease, but there was something off. Was his sister on drugs? Recently acquired memories told him more than enough places to get them.

"Overprotective asshole," she muttered without glancing up. Reflected in the screen, her pupils were fully dialated. "Just get me another drink. Room service, number fourteen." Attention still on his sister, Mercer walked to the phone suspiciously and checked the menu. Over the top of it, something caught his eye. On the desk by the wall, the culprits were sitting on the side, neatly lined up. All twenty-one of them.

"Dana!" He'd left the hotel less than eight hours ago.

"Not now, Alex." She was engrossed in whatever she was reading. He stalked back and snatched the laptop off her lap, just letting her get her fingers out before the case snapped shut. As she reached for it indignantly, he folded it into his chest and crossed his arms. Dana shot to her feet. "Dammit, Alex, just get me a coffee!"

"I'm cutting you off." He hoped there hadn't been an expresso shot in each of those mugs, but the black tarry line halfway up each wasn't promising. They smelled oddly sweet.

"I have work!" Leader hunters were less terrifying than the expression on his sister's face. Intervening between Dana and coffee was a dangerous pursuit.

"I need your help," he improvised quickly. She held out a hand in demand. It shook.

"So give me my laptop."

"Outside." Firmly he took Dana's outstretched arm and propelled her towards the door. The line of empty coffee cups sat accusingly on the table behind them.

"But there's sunlight," she whined, still jittering. "It's unhealthy." Alex ignored the protest and kept walking. "Where are we going?"

"The Sugarloaf cable car." Without going back to the statue, it was the closest he'd get to the view of flying over the city. Matching aerial landmarks to the names and buildings in recently-acquired memories should mean he wouldn't get lost again. And the trip would be long enough for his far-too-wired sister to crash by the time they got back.

"I can walk. There's a trail." As Dana protested, Alex opened the door and pushed her through it.

"No." The human pulse was not meant to sound like a hummingbird's, and his sister's was far too fast. Exercise was a risk right now.

"Or I could help from here." He shut the door before she could cut passed him back into the room.

"I need you there." It wasn't entirely a lie. Two people were better than one.

"What happens if the cable car falls?" Inch-thick steel bracing and reinforced glass? Alex would be through the side and away the second anything went wrong, with Dana under his arm.

"I catch you." The roomkey vanished into his hand with a blur of tentacles before she could take it back. She glowered. The effect was lessened by the slight shaking of her shoulders.

"Sit on a mountain, set up a VPN, cloaking my Mac address, just so you can play tourist." Dana complained as they started down the corridor. "If I get mugged..." Alex shook his head. Dana shouldn’t worry so much. Alex would just eat them.

#

Rooks didn’t bother with a greeting, quickly returning the salutes as he walked into the Intelligence department. His target had his back to the door and hadn’t even noticed him, helmet off and earphones in. Unceremoniously, the Colonel pulled one earphone out.

“Any progress with the Brazilian government database?” he demanded.

“I’ve got my hand up her dress and she’s spreading her-” The analyst went from absorbed in his screen, to sheer terror, and virtually levitated into a salute. Rooks didn’t give a damn, he’d heard worse.

“So you’re screwing it right up?” he growled.

“No sir, I’m through the firewall and have user access. Admin rights to follow.”

“Then report.” The squads had left this morning, through civilian channels with their gear following in diplomatic ones, but Command were getting cold feet about his right to operate overseas. He needed something concrete to slam their heads into.

“Nothing useful from the database yet, sir, but we have some evidence.”

“Of Zeus?”

“Not directly, sir. First we have surveillance photographs of Rio showing impact craters. Photo-analysis matches the pattern and separation distance of Zeus on the move in New York.” It was good, but not solid. “The craters weren’t present on the previous photos taken seventy-two hours ago.” That was better.

“And?” If Rooks went up the chain with that, it would not be enough. He needed an ace.

“Last night a trespasser climbed the statue of Christ the Redeemer. When the police helicopter closed in, he jumped. No impact site or body was found.” The analyst turned to his computer, bringing up a photograph of a man stood on the statue’s head. Rooks leaned closer, incredulously. Was the climber holding a map? “The man’s face didn’t match anything in the Brazillian’s databases so they filed it for reference. However, we have a high probability match from NYPD. A mugshot of a small-time crook, whose record of offences stops dead in 2008. So do his tax returns.” Now Rooks smiled. Got you.

“That sounds dead certain to me.” It would certainly be enough to merit sending some more stealth drones through diplomatic channels.

“Sir, we have no proof the man is dead.”

“Because no one saw the body?” That was very much Zeus’ calling card.

“Or the tentacles, sir.”

“So either a petty criminal got eaten by Zeus or just stopped committing offences for no reason at all.” Rooks knew how likely that was, in the New York crime wave after the outbreak. If the victim had been shot by Blackwatch in the aftermath, he would have been bagged, tagged, and identified. "Unless you have another alternative?"

“Well, sir.” The analyst glanced at the picture on screen. “He might have found god.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

In the dark of Vila Alianca, a youth fled through the narrow streets, the gap barely wide enough for one person to fit between the concrete buildings. A bullet struck the wall over his head as he ducked, his pursuers right on his heels, laughing and jeering. His terrified glance back sent him straight into a concrete wall looming in the dark, a shower of dust flaking down on him as he pushed himself back, darting down a side alley. His pursuers slowed, laughing.

“Dead end, viado,” the leader taunted, as he gestured. "Cut him off." Two of the men split off in different directions, climbing the broken concrete walls as the remaining two moved into the alley. The strings of washing hanging between the buildings were stirring lightly in the breeze but there was no other disturbance. The attackers moved down cautiously as their leader hung back, covering the entrance.

“No sign!” One of them called, and the other man held up a hand. He took a silent step towards one of the rubbish piles by the side of the road, and plunged an arm into it, yanking a small child up by the arm.

“We’re after a man. You see where he went?” The boy struggled, pointing upwards pathetically.

“Please don’t kill me. He climbed. A window.” Dropped to the ground in a heap, the boy scuttled back on all fours as the gang member laughed, and turned to the end of the alley. Their leader closed up, kicking the street rat out of the way.

“Find him. That Rocinha filho da puta pays for trespassing.” The two swung round, rifles up to cover the window. The street kid sniffling, hadn’t run, closing up like the kid thought he could pick a pocket. He swung the rifle down-

_Lukas Almeida, seventeen, playing with his brothers, the body was so cold, all the red on the tiles, pulling the trigger, rising in the ranks, that damn priest, a new player heard not seen, “The guards heard too much, kill them,” and a glimpse of a reflection-_

The new Lukas swore violently. The others jumped.

“See him?” Lukas demanded, staring up at the roof.

“Not a sign,” Dai shouted down, peering over the edge.

“Must’ve run.” Alejo flapped his arms like a chickens, squawking, and his brother laughed. Lukas didn’t, pulling out a burner phone.

“Get your arses back here,” he said dialling one-handed. “Yes, yes...One of those viado from Rocinha trying to trade on our turf. Yes. There might be more.” He made sure the others were out of hearing. “Got some stuff on them you wanna see. This is a major move.” He waited, smiled. “Yes, I’ll come in tonight.” As he hung up, Alejo clicked the rifle.

“Thought you weren’t seeing the boss for a week?” The guy had always had good hearing, too good for his own good. Lukas shrugged it off.

“Wants to know about the trespasser,” Lukas said, casually. “You three, stay here and search. I’ll go in.” As the footsoldiers obeyed, he headed off, moving through the paths like the native he was, if too fast and sure-footed in the dark streets. He needed the extra time to stop at one of their caches and retrieve supplies, assembling the timer and hiding it inside his jacket before he backtracked, coming over the rooftops towards the white-painted building Pedro worked out of.

Dodging guards, he stopped on the roof opposite, setting the timer and leaving two grenades attached to it, before he dropped down the wall and walked round to the front.

“To see Pedro,” he said, recognising the guards as Marco and Mario, though the twins were impossible to tell apart. Roughly, they took his rifle, patted him down fast, and pushed him inside.

Pedro was sitting behind the table, a gun already in hand. Lukas lowered his head respectfully to the grey-haired boss, mindful of the armed men lounging around the room, keeping a watchful eye on the exits. Pedro’s eyes were half-lidded as he watched Lukas sweat, before he finally spoke.

“Henry, what is this?” The oldest of the guards shrugged, utterly indifferent to his employer’s question. Pedro stubbed out his cigarette, lit a new one, as he waited.

“We have some scum from Rocinha, a drug dealer,” Lukas stammered, under his scrutiny. “I think they’re making a move on us.”

“Can’t hack the UPP, so they think they can move in here?” Pedro said. He gestured with the cigarette, murmured something and Lukas leant forward to listen. The boss caught Lukas' head by the hair in a vice-grip, twisting it to force the teen down against the table. “Or you’re lying. Alejo called me.”

“Alejo let the man escape!” Lukas whimpered. Pedro reached into his jacket, pulling out a gun. “He’s working with-”

The room rocked. Glass shattered in the window, showering them as the blast rocked the building. The guards were on their feet, squatted by the doors, crouched by the sides of windows looking out. From the opposite roof smoke was rising, a divot blown in the concrete.

“Get to the bunker!” They rushed to obey Henry's order, some blocking doors and windows, the core group hurrying Pedro and Lukas to the securest part of the building, into the concrete cellar that doubled as armoury and fortress. Garci slammed the door behind them, spinning the lock. In that single instant of distraction Lukas reached across the desk and grabbed Pedro’s collar. Then there wasn’t a Lukas anymore and Pedro was pointing to the space.

“Where’d he go? Where’d the fuck he go?” Pedro demanded. The guards reacted fast, stunned by the sudden absence.

“Where the fuck-?” In the panic they looked everywhere. Pedro stepped back, collided with one of the guards-

_Henry da Silva, 28, cocaine habit, playing poker with the boys, cheating...nothing useful._

“Boss?” Marco asked, panic in his tone. Henry turned, staring at the place Pedro wasn’t. “Boss?” Garci and Mario were backing away, putting their backs to the walls. Henry stooped to look under the crates that served as a table, as if Pedro could have vanished under there. Baffled, he shook his head.

“What the-?” In his shock Garci had backed too far, the pullcord of the lightbulb catching on his rifle. There was a click. The lights went out as he yelped and fumbled.

There was a scream, mortal agony that froze them in their tracks. Unable to stop himself, the light flicked on as Garci twitched the rifle.

Marco was staring at the space where Henry had stood. It was empty. In the yellow lights the crates shone a sticky crimson. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he backed away, and something squelched underfoot. The cellar was an inch-deep in blood.

“It’s in here!” Mario shrieked. “Holy Mary mother of-” The gunfire drowned out his curse as he raked the crates with bullets. Garci dived aside, Marco ducking as ricochets struck sparks wildly off the concrete. With a strangled scream Garci clutched his stomach, blood blooming between his fingers as stray shots raked his side. Wood chips flew as the crates exploded, no cover left. Marco threw himself forward, tackling Mario to the ground as the gun veered wildly, shattering the lightbulb and plunging the room into darkness. Mercifully the clip ran out.

The silence thundered in bullet-deafened ears. Choking, clutching his wound, Garci tried to sit up.

“Garci, you still alive?” Mario called in the dark.

“Mario? You OK?” Garci shouted back, blind and half-deafened. Hands like steel grabbed his arms, lifting him off the ground.

“No.”

The screams were mercifully short.

_Garcia de Costa, twenty-seven, Pedro’s right hand, keeping an eye on Pedro for-, gold stashed in-, a reflection in a door, the same door closing on a meeting he was invited to, the face he was looking for, an address…_

Finally! Alone in the room, Alex swore. Why did everything always have to be in the last place he looked?

#

“Report from Rio, sir. Priority One.” The aide was speaking even before the door finished shutting behind him. Rooks snapped to full awareness abruptly from the first fifteen minutes of sleep he'd got in the last seventy-two hours. Priority One?

“They found him?”

“No, sir, but location is confirmed. The team got close to the impact craters in Rocinha, sir. Using portable detectors, faint traces of Blacklight were revealed. Concentrations indicate it was present when the craters appeared.” Rooks laughed from sheer relief. They had the bastard. Now Blackwatch could make their move. The Brazilian government would scream, but they would be alive to do it.

“Why the delay reporting?” The teams had been on sight since first light, and they'd better have got their sleep on the plane. Unless Mercer had found them first. “Did they engage Zeus?”

“An issue with the authorities, sir. Now resolved. No engagement.”

“Very good.” Rooks grimaced as his brain began to work. They had the creature. Now they had to find it in a city of several million, on another continent, outside their normal authority. Then they had to find everywhere it had gone while it travelled there and sterilise all locations. If the creature had left viral caches across South America, the entire continent was a time bomb. “Anything more?”

“Ah, sir, they were mugged.” Rooks froze, and then reached for the cold coffee on his desk.

“Any casualties?”

“Just the muggers.” Good, or his troops would have been retaking basic for the rest of their careers.

“Police issues?”

“No, sir. The UPP thought it was very funny. It seems tourists vs. drug dealers normally goes the other way.” Rooks smirked. It seemed like this UPP, whatever-the-hell they were, were a police force with an attitude Blackwatch could approve of.

“Can we track Zeus further?”

“No sir,” the aide grimaced. “The UPP have shut down tourism in Rocinha. Something's kicked off a gang war.” Rooks nodded once to himself. So Zeus appears in a city and suddenly the area turns into a warzone. That felt far too familiar.

"Backtrack his journey. Any routes, any possibilities. Get squads on the ground to trace any leads." Rooks had thought they were over-extended before, but this couldn’t be avoided. Miss even one of Blacklight's little timebombs and humanity died.

"Yessir. Orders for Brazil?"

“Get stealth drones on deployment,” he ordered. If they couldn't go into the area, they could go over it. "See what traces we can find."

“Should we notify the Brazilian authorities?” the aide asked. Rooks didn’t hesitate.

“No.” What they didn’t know couldn’t be eaten out of them.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Alex glowered at the drone, shifting the uncomfortable weight in his biomass. It looked like one of Blackwatch’s, but it wasn’t shooting him. More importantly it was ignoring him, floating inconveniently down the main road between Rocinha and the hotel. Some kind of traffic control drone?

Curious. Alert for trouble, he jumped, gliding in for a closer look. The drone had cameras all over it, but there were no red lights, no sudden alerts, and it wasn’t even beeping. Confused, he landed on a flat roof and snagged it with a whipfist, hauling it close for a look. The shell was like Blackwatch’s but it wasn’t armed even if the mounts were present and the cameras were live. He kept them turned away from him, wrapping the whipfist round the lenses to block the picture.

So the Brazillians and Blackwatch had been buying off-the-shelf components from the same suppliers. His stolen memories helpfully gave him a name and a price as he, as Randall’s memories, negotiated the deal.

Something crunched and he scowled. His whipfist had closed tight around the drone, shattered glass and metal, and he wasn’t going to learn much from what was left. Off-handed he shrugged, tossing the wrecked machine down into an alley, and raced for the hotel room, dodging another drone on the way. 

Dana was crouched over her laptop, chewing her lip, as he pulled himself in through the window. She didn’t even look up as he thumped heavily onto the floor.

“Dana-”

“How many da Silvas are there in Rio?”

“Hundreds. Thousands. Why?”

“I might have a lead on a Lukas da Silva.”

“Drop it. I killed him last night.”

“Alex!”

“He tried to shoot me.” Dana drew in a breath, and quite visibly controlled her temper.

“OK,” she said. “Anyone else I shouldn’t look up?” Reluctantly he gave her the list. “Dammit, Alex, don’t tell me they were all trying to shoot you!”

“They were.” He protested. “Favelas are dangerous, Dana.”

“Great, so all my leads are dead. That’s not good.”

“What do you want to know?”

“It’s not what, its who.” Her forehead had furrowed as she glared at the screen. “Hitting the embassy, it’s too small.” She tapped away at the keys. “They threatened something big. Last time that was three nukes. They claimed credit for the outbreak and said they'd do something bigger. A few paramilitaries hitting one embassy? It doesn’t fit.”

“They claimed credit.” Alex adjusted the mass inside, looking for womewhere safe to dump it.

“Them and about fourteen others.” She shook her head. “There’s something I’m missing, and if I don’t find it...what else could they have got from Ukraine?” Alex could have given her the list, but with everything that passed through the ex-USSR black markets it was a long one. He had other business.

“Dana-”

“Look, Alex, this is important so unless you have something urgent-”

He let his biomass relax. There was a series of metallic thumps, muffled by the carpet. Dana looked up, eyes wide, and drew a long, exasperated, breath. She didn’t look as happy as he had expected.

“Can you launder money?” He cut to the point, feeling better already with the pile of rather damp bullion lying on the carpet and not sloshing around in his biomass. His sister’s glare told he he’d done something wrong again. The fact she was looking at the ceiling and counting under her breath was a giveaway. “I can dump it?” He offered.

“For God’s sake’s, Alex!”

#

“And the Brazilian government want to know why Rio has been flooded with US special forces.” The aide said, and Rooks brushed him off.

“Tell them we’re on vacation.”

“They have also asked about the drones.” Rooks sighed. It was much easier in the US without all these people getting in the way, as if they actually thought they had any form of jurisdiction.

“Tell them we’re dealing with a bio-weapons threat.” That should shut them up.

“They say they’re aware of it and have it under control.” Rooks stopped dead, staring incredulously.

“They think they can control Blacklight?”

“It seems so, sir. We’ve asked for clarification on their containment and operations procedures, but they’re stone-walling. They claim it is classified.” The aide said, sounding as frustrated as Rooks felt. He took a deep breath. They’d come screaming to him soon enough, ideally before half of Rio began sprouting tentacles.

“Idiots.” The Commander of Blackwatch said heavily, and moved on. “Then we ignore them and carry on operations. Any updates on our not-CIA group?”

“No leads from any of our contacts. They’ve gone very quiet.” That wasn’t good. Whoever they were, they needed to be flushed out and flushed away before they got whatever they wanted the Mercers’ for underway.

“Any indications they’re in contact with the Mercers?”

“Unknown, sir.” The aide said, “but we believe we are narrowing down their location. They appear to be somewhere in the tourist district given the locations we have tracked them through.”

“Tracked them?”

“Sir, the craters were in Rocinha. We found more traces there this morning.”

“This time without being mugged?” Rooks said, keeping himself calm. He needed a lead or a breakthrough. He knew he was burning his career down, leaving a trail of broken bridges, but if it meant there was a world where his daughter would live to grow up, he’d do far worse. “So why isn’t Blacklight in Rocinha?”

“Sir, last night one of our drones alerted to Mercer’s presence. It was partway between the favela and the tourist area. The analyst reports it is consistent with Blacklight’s known travel speed if he was going for Ipanema. Currently he theorises the virus is hunting in Rocinha at night and returning to the tourist area during the day.“

“Why isn’t he telling me this?”

“He’s analysing the records from the drone.” Rooks noted the aide’s sudden ramrod straight stance. There was something coming up he knew he wouldn’t like.

“Why didn’t the drone follow him.” Rooks asked dangerously. ”Did we engage against my direct orders to follow and locate?”

“No, sir.” The aide swallowed. “By the time the signal was relayed to us, and the squads on site could react, Mercer had trashed the drone and we’d lost him.”

“Trashed? I thought these were stealth drones?” Rooks said, taken aback. What had he missed?

“They are, sir. The video shows him doing a fly-by, then pulling it in and wrecking it.”

“Did it shoot him?” Rooks asked with a sinking feeling. If Blacklight simply had an aversion to drones, this was going to be complicated.

“No sir, the stealth drones in Rio are unarmed.” Rooks knew the sense of it, and rubbed his forehead. If beeping triggered Mercer to attack bullets certainly would, or, as they now knew, just being drones. Had New York trained the virus to hunt their drones? Shit.

Arming the drones would solve the problem with fast responses, but they couldn’t kill the virus outright and the Brazilian government would get awkward if Blackwatch drones just started shooting people in Rio. A shut-up bribe to a foreign government wasn’t in the budget, not when that government could gain more by embarrassing the US.

“The scientists suspect it could be instinctive behaviour triggered by the engine noise,” the aide reported, still at full attentive please-dont-blame-me attention. Rooks rounded on him.

“Or, you can tell them from me, Blacklight could be fucking hostile because every time he saw one they’ve fucking shot him!” 


End file.
